


Spoke in the Wheel

by GinRyuu



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, POV Loki (Marvel), POV Tony Stark, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, strange things are afoot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-29 20:54:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19838338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinRyuu/pseuds/GinRyuu
Summary: I don't know how to summarize this without retelling it, so please read the tags for a hint of what this is. I may add a proper summary or edit the tags later. If I do, I will note it here for easy reference.Both chapters relate the same scene. The first chapter is Loki's POV. The second is Tony's POV.





	1. Loki

Loki stood, arms crossed, chin tilted down, and kept his gaze lowered. People, of a sort, drifted around him. He heard them as indistinct murmurs. He caught flickers of their movement in his peripheral vision, but they were just that – flickers. Unsubstantial shades. Maybe poorly crafted illusions. If he looked directly at them, they solidified. They might even interact with him. As soon as they lost his focus, however, they wavered. They also changed in identity if his attention drifted. Only the Spider and the Hawk held together with any consistency.

An annoying sense of déjà vu coupled with no sense of how long he had been in this place made the situation disconcerting, to say the least, even for a being such as himself that generally enjoyed a bit of chaos. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, to borrow the Midgardian phrase, and his efforts to order his thoughts and analyze the situation brought on a raging headache. He reached for his seiðr, but it slipped through his grasp and refused to respond to his will.

Now, he was alarmed.

What in Hel was happening?

He pinched the bridge of his nose and with the motion accidentally met the Hawk’s eyes. The archer made a comment that Loki could not quite understand, but, knowing the man, it was probably snide, so Loki ignored him. He braced his hands on the table before him, hunching over it, and kept his gaze averted from the hollow forms he knew were gathering around it.

He flinched and closed his eyes when the table’s surface lit. Without looking, he knew, not the how or why of how he possessed the knowledge, but he _knew_ that a projected Möbius strip shimmered over the table.

Warm, work-roughened fingers touched the back of his hand. “Are you okay?”

Loki sucked in a breath at the contact and the clear inquiry. He stared at the hand that rested on the back of his. Smaller, darker, familiar. He raised his eyes to meet a concerned browned-eyed gaze.

“Stark.” Loki’s voice cracked on the name.

Brow furrowed, Stark tilted his head, a question in his eyes. One of his cheeks hollowed as he bit its inside.

The familiarity of that small gesture washed over Loki. He felt a pang in his chest at the surety that he knew Stark, Tony, in a way that far exceeded their brief encounters during the forced invasion of Midgard and attack on New York. He closed his eyes, and flashes of forgotten moments with Tony simmered into his consciousness. He knew the man’s laughter, the quickness of his mind, the depths of his generosity and care that he hid from but a handful, the feel and taste of his skin. Norns help him. _How had he forgotten Anthony?_ The one solid constant in whatever this was. He might leave a room but never simply faded from sight. His words were always audible if at times incomprehensible because of some unknown Midgardian reference, and he was tangible.

He met Tony’s eyes again and saw centuries of sorrow in them. The man was not young by Midgardian measure, but neither was he old. He most certainly was not of an age to hold so much grief.

With a pinched smile and something too close to defeat in his eyes, Tony patted the back of Loki’s hand before withdrawing his own and turned back to the projection.

Loki caught himself before he could reach for Tony’s hand and hold it fast, questioning for a moment the accuracy of his memories.

The god blinked, and red and gold armor encased Tony’s hand, the Infinity Stones embedded within it. From one blink to the next, the armor went from pristine to damaged, black scorch marks covering it. Another blink and the vision cleared. Tony stood whole before him, but Loki understood now, remembered with sick certainty, where this all would lead. Where it always led.

As he watched the man square his shoulders and grit his teeth in a determined smile, drawing on a mask, Loki felt his seiðr break free of what had bound it and rise within him.

“No,” he said before Tony could begin speaking.

Tony looked at him, and Loki saw beyond the man’s mask into a well of weariness and lifetimes of loss brought on by untold repetitions of the events about to play out. And, oh, it pained him to realize the mortal remembered _all_ of it, had been _alone_ in his knowledge until now.

“No,” he repeated, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder to gently turn him towards himself.

“Loki?” The flicker of hope that appeared in Tony’s eyes warmed the god.

“Not again,” he said and watched the man before him begin to fall apart, tears filling his eyes. His body trembled under Loki’s hand. “We will break this cycle.” He cupped Tony’s face and brushed away his tears. “I will not lose you again,” he promised against Tony’s lips before claiming them, humming in pleasure as the man opened for him. The craftsman’s hands went to Loki’s chest, found the gaps in his armour, and used them to hold him close, silencing any doubt the god had about his feelings being returned.

After reacquainting himself with the taste of his mortal, Loki drew back and placed a kiss to Tony’s forehead. He wrapped his arms around the smaller man. One long arm hung low to wrap around his waist. The other held higher and bent to allow him to sift his fingers through his lover’s hair.

Tony buried his face against Loki’s neck. “You remember.”

“Yes, my heart. I am sorry it has taken me so long to become aware. I am sorry you have been alone.”

Releasing his hold on Loki’s armour, Tony worked his arms within the god’s embrace to embrace him in kind.

Speaking close to the mortal’s ear, he vowed, “I will not allow you to be sacrificed again.”

“Do really think we can escape this?”

Keeping his arms about his mortal, Loki pulled back and drew himself to his full height. Placing a finger under Tony’s chin, he gently urged the man to look at him and waited for him to meet his eyes. “Anthony Edward Stark, do you dare question what I am capable of? What _we_ together are capable of? The author of this construct should tremble and despair.”

Tony snorted and rolled his eyes, and a shiver of relief slid through Loki at his reaction. Burdened not broken. The man’s strength amazed him.

“And how do propose putting a spoke in the wheel?”

“We start with this,” Loki said, reaching over and turning off the projection.

“Throw out the script?”

“Exactly.”

“I am tired of ‘The Talk’, but Loki…I’ve tried to change things.”

The fatigue in Tony’s face and the weary slope of his shoulders as he gazed at the unlit table had Loki tightened his grasp of the man, pulling his attention back from his dark thoughts.

“Anthony, I cannot promise it will easy. I cannot promise that we will set things aright on the first try. As much as I wish I could.” Putting a hand on the back of the engineer’s neck and gently massaging the tense muscles there, the god leaned down to bring their foreheads together. “I would bind our souls together, dearest. Such a bond cannot be broken. Not even by Death. In this way, I can promise that whatever comes, you will no longer carry this burden alone.”

“Binding our souls. Are you sure, Loki? I mean, I am just a mortal, after all, and –”

_Just a mortal. Hardly._ Loki silenced him with a soft kiss then said, “If you are willing, I have no reservations about such a bond.”

Tony looked at him with solemn, searching eyes, then smiled. He placed a hand on Loki’s cheek. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is Tony's POV. He has theories, and I'm glad he does because I really don't know what's going on.


	2. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has theories.

Tony lingered in the doorway, putting off the moment when he would set the plan in motion – again – watering down the science of time travel with the visual aid of a Möbius strip which really had more relevance as a metaphor for Tony’s existence than the mechanics of what they were about to do. But, hey, it gave the team something to look at while he gave “The Talk.”

He was tired of “The Talk.” He didn’t even bother with the pop culture references anymore. They lost their ability to amuse him after the first fifty iterations.

He had stopped counting at one hundred.

This could be the one thousandth or ten thousandth round.

He didn’t know. Didn’t care.

_It didn’t matter_.

It always ended the same. With him burning himself out with a snap.

The world was saved.

Tony, though, he was fucked. Or doomed. Possibly damned.

He didn’t really know.

His theories for what was happening ranged from shared multiverse experiences to Hell/Purgatory to _Groundhog Day_ to Stephen Strange being a colossal ass playing with the Time Stone. He chose to dismiss the possibility of insanity or a freakishly long nightmare because his genius brain should be able to come up with something better than this. He likewise ignored some new form of psychological torture visited upon him by unknown parties because he had had enough of that sort of thing, thank you very much, and, dammit, if he was wrong about it being torture, he might have to concede to being damn near broken if not shattered. Which brought him back to his other theories.

Given Strange’s stated long, _long_ odds of winning, the multiverse experience seemed unlikely. Unless, some cosmic entity – such as Lady Death trying to ditch her unwanted suitor in every existence – had decided to make Tony their personal chess piece.

He had ruled out the _Groundhog Day_ scenario fairly early on but liked to keep it in play just because it offered the possibility of an out awaiting his discovery. The harsh truth, however, was that there were differences between one iteration to the next that could not be attributed to Tony’s actions. Most of the time Clint and Natasha were present, like they were now, but sometimes it was Rogers and Barnes who traveled to Vormir with only one coming back. Tony felt like crap every time, but it was worse when it was the spies. They were the more frequent victims of that trip. Even though they had no memory of their recurring sacrifices, Tony felt the damage being done to them and imagined he could see it in the shadows of their eyes.

That left him A) Hell/Purgatory or B) Strange being a prick. His personal bias, not being religious, had him leaning toward option B or an as yet unconsidered option C.

None of his theories sat well because he couldn’t find a way to escape the cycle. Worse, he might be dependent on someone else’s whim to get out of it, and he wanted out. Even if it meant staying dead.

Honestly, at this point, eternal rest appealed to him.

The time between Bruce’s snap and his own had been short and chaotic. There had been no time to feel the effects of half the population returning to discover children grown, loved ones gone or moved on, whole cities essentially shut down and left for Nature to reclaim. Governments had regularly lost their shit over a few thousand refugees seeking asylum; he could imagine the clusterfuck of the population doubling in an instant and not having the necessary resources in place. If he had survived the early rounds, he would have taken to the metaphorical trenches and done what he could to help the world cope.

Now, however, he was done.

He was ready to rest.

He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. It was time for “The Talk.” He looked to see who his audience included this time and felt something loosen at the sight of the tall, slender figure decked out in black and green armour. He gave himself a moment to luxuriate in the sight and offered a prayer of thanks to the only god in whom he had any faith, Loki himself. The God of Mischief made this whole situation marginally better and was the reason Tony still believed himself sane.

He had discovered early on that while the players might change, that the players themselves, including the God of Thunder, had limited scripts and roles like so many NPCs.

But, Loki.

He changed.

He had no set script and seemed to have no limits to his actions.

Whatever this was, it couldn’t suppress the personification of Mischief.

Tony spent as much time as possible with the god whenever he appeared, and in Loki, he found his match. Intelligent with a biting sense of humor, a thirst for knowledge, and loyal as well as protective of those he considered his, the Trickster was everything Tony could hope for in a partner. The god’s immense sex appeal and ability to work magic, which could be damn pleasurable in the right circumstances, was just icing on the cake.

If they weren’t caught in this nightmarish situation, he would be courting the god with every resource at his disposal. He was 98.7% sure the god would accept his suit.

After one ill-considered, but magnificent, turn of the wheel spent wrapped around Loki in every spare moment, Tony realized that fully loving the Trickster, engaging in a romance that wouldn’t be remembered with the next reset would break him more than his repeated deaths. So, he held tight to his feelings, indulging in more than friendship only on the rare occasions that Loki sought him out for that purpose. It still hurt, but it was uncommon enough to keep him from building expectations.

He stepped to the god’s side where he stood hunched over the table, his hands braced on its surface. Seeing the way he flinched when the projection came on, Tony reached out and touched the back of his hand. “Are you okay?”

Loki tensed then looked at him with wide-eyed confusion. “Stark.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Tony considered the god. There was something in his green-eyed gaze that inspired a fearful hope that Loki might be aware of what was happening. Then looking pained, the god closed his eyes, and the crushing weight of the situation overwhelmed Tony. When Loki opened his eyes again, Tony smiled at him and absently patted his hand.

Turning back to the projection, Tony squared his shoulders and put on his game face, the one that had carried him through board meetings and press conferences. Not that he could remember that last time he had had to deal with either event, but “The Talk” fell into the same category, didn’t it?

“No.”

Tony stilled. His skin prickled uncomfortably. He looked at Loki, wondering what had prompted the unexpected protest before “The Talk” had even started. Usually, the god saved his objections and snarky comments for later.

“No,” the god repeated, placing his hand on Tony’s shoulder, turning him so they faced each other.

“Loki?”

“Not again.”

Tony’s throat closed against the hard lump that formed there, tears burned his eyes, and tremors shook him as hope rose within him that maybe he wasn’t alone this time. Maybe the god had somehow come to see what was happening.

“We will break this cycle.” Loki cupped Tony’s face and, with gentle sweeps of his thumbs, brushed away tears Tony hadn’t realized he had shed. The god leaned down. Their breath mingled. “I will not lose you again.”

Then, Loki was kissing him, and he was kissing the god right back, digging his fingers into the taller man’s armour and pulling him close, delighting in the hum the god made against his lips. If only _this_ moment never ended or cycled on unending repeat, but Loki drew back. Pressing a kiss to Tony’s forehead, the god wrapped his arms around him. He buried his face in the Trickster’s neck and breathed in the scent of leather and that which was uniquely Loki. He closed his eyes at the little tugs against his scalp as the god toyed with his hair.

“You remember.”

“Yes, my heart. I am sorry it has taken me so long to become aware. I am sorry you have been alone.”

Tony wiggled within his embrace and returned the hug, squeezing him tight.

“I will not allow you to be sacrificed again.” The low words spoken next to ear sounded like a promise, but Tony had his doubts that it could be kept.

“Do really think we can escape this?”

Loki pulled back within his embrace and drew himself to his full height. Afraid that he would see doubt or his own fear reflected in the Trickster’s eyes, Tony kept his own lowered, but Loki placed a cool finger under his chin and gently coaxed him to meet his gaze. “Anthony Edward Stark, do you dare question what I am capable of? What _we_ together are capable of? The author of this construct should tremble and despair.”

Tony snorted and rolled his eyes. The god’s arrogance outstripped his own. “And how do propose putting a spoke in the wheel?”

“We start with this,” Loki said, reaching over and turning off the projection.

The other players this cycle, forgotten by Tony in the face of Loki’s knowledge of what was happening, protested. He shoved thoughts of them to the side.

“Throw out the script?”

“Exactly.”

“I am tired of ‘The Talk’, but Loki…I’ve tried to change things.” His gaze drifted to the darkened table. He ran the different scenarios that he had tried. Someone or something always tipped the course of events back to the original end. Would it be different with Loki at his side? Would the pair of them be able to avert the fatal snap? Did he dare hope to somehow survive his second battle against Thanos? Could they prevent a second battle against Thanos?

Loki’s arms tightened around him, and he returned his attention to the god.

“Anthony, I cannot promise it will easy. I cannot promise that we will set things aright on the first try. As much as I wish I could.” Putting a hand on the back of the engineer’s neck and gently massaging the tense muscles there, the god leaned down to bring their foreheads together. “I would bind our souls together, dearest. Such a bond cannot be broken. Not even by Death. In this way, I can promise that whatever comes, you will no longer carry this burden alone.”

“Binding our souls. Are you sure, Loki? I mean, I am just a mortal, after all, and –” Loki cut him off with a kiss.

“If you are willing, I have no reservations about such a bond.”

Seeing the warmth and certainty in the Trickster’s eyes, Tony smiled. He placed a hand on Loki’s cheek. “Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> This scenario, in Loki's POV, came to me in an early morning dream, and it sort of insisted that I write it out. I'm not really sure what to make of it myself. In the end, I put it into the category of a writing experiment/exercise of writing the same thing from two POV.
> 
> As always, I hope it proves an enjoyable for someone.


End file.
